Beloved Lost
by TitanTipTop
Summary: Abby moves away to get away from the past, to start new, and she thinks her new neighbor may help, even if he's borderline crazy. When a cryptic message is left at the door of 221c, everything gets too personal for Abby as she runs off with out Sherlock, determined to find what shes been missing for years, but Sherlock needs to find her before she gets hurt. T for language
1. INTRODUCTION

Beloved lost- Introduction

Sherlock could count the number of times he was stumped on one hand, and he wasn't excited to be adding to that list.

American.

That's all her could get-other then the fact that she was moving into 221c Baker Street, but even John could have figured that one out. It wasn't enough. He wanted the details, all of her secrets, the things she wouldn't tell even her best friend. He was so use to looking at a person and having their life story at the tips of his fingers, but that just wasn't coming with her. If Sherlock was fair to himself he would say that he only gets a few glances of her from the window of his flat as she carries in boxes, but he figured out more going off of less. So what was his problem?

The woman in question was cradling, what appeared to be, her final moving box and braced herself against the lingering cold of London in march, an experience completely foreign to her. But Sherlock still didn't get anything. He had to get closer.

"John?" He didn't wait for a response, "Don't you think you should invite the neighbor over for coffee?"

John stared at his flat mate for a moment, "What?"

"Isn't that," Sherlock waved his hand in the air, searching for the word, "Neighborly or something? She's attractive, if that helps, perhaps she can be the next in your hideous line of girlfriends."

John peaked down the stairs to find their new neighbor at the bottom of the stairs, chatting with Ms. Hudson. She let a laugh ring up the stairs, even and short, like a song. Sherlock hadn't been wrong, she was quite attractive. "You know I already have a girlfr-" John stopped himself. To be honest, he wasn't sure if Sherlock cared enough to know his relationship status. "Anyway, Since when do you find people attractive?"

"I can recognize it."

He sighed, "Well, it would be nice, and she seems friendly enough. I'll boil the kettle then, I was planning on getting the shopping though."

Sherlock found his way to the leather chair and dropped in, "Not tea, John, Coffee," He corrected. "She's American. They don't 'do' tea."

"Then I will head to the shop actually, need anything else?"

Sherlock shook his head, "No, that should be enough to get her up here. I just need to get a read on her-"

"So that's why?" John questioned. Sherlock only replied with a raised eyebrow, he was too use to John questioning his motives to give a better response, "A new neighbor and you just want to get a read on her. I swear to god don't scare her away. She just moved in, don't make her move out."

John didn't get much response, as Sherlock just continued to stare forward with his fingers pressed together under his chin.

"Forget it,"

And with that John left the flat, hailing a cab once he got outside, hoping his flatmate would do anything idiotic while he was away.

He decided to get busy while he was waiting, walking up to the wall above the sofa, plastered with crime scene photos and clues from his most recent case. It would be a simple enough case, woman in her mid thirties found dead in a ally- poisoned- with her belongings missing to make it look like a crime, if it weren't for the fact that she had been registered as dead four years ago and had the case number from that murder case carved into her arm. Quite puzzling. No wonder the police had called him in. But Sherlock wasn't getting very far with the case either.

His focus was interrupted by a light knock and a, "Hello?" Sherlock turned as the woman from 221c stepped into the room, "Sorry, the door was open, I wanted to say Hi. I'm-"

"Moving in to 221c from America," Sherlock interjected, and smiled when she was a little taken aback. He couldn't say he didn't enjoy surprising people.

"Well, yeah. Abby Johnston. 221c. But I guess you knew that."

Sherlock took a moment to study her, looking for anything he can find.

Tan- not fake.  
Sun bleached but still brown hair.  
Missing wedding ring.  
Blue eyes.  
Tank top.

"Can I help you with something or are you just going to stare all day?"

Had he really been staring? And he didn't even get much.

"It's- uh- how I read people," He stuttered out.

Abby only smirked, not being too phased by Sherlock, "And what can you read from me?" She leaned on the wall, crossing her arms and looking quite smug. Sherlock thought that she must be hiding something she doesn't think he could get at. And it was going to drive him crazy.

"Well. American- already established. From Florida, specifically. Late twenties to early thirties, you are recently divorced, which left you at quite the loss of money. You wanted to get away and called Ms. Hudson, whom you knew when you were younger. And you got the flat you are currently moving into now."

Abby only nodded her head a few times, "That's really good. You could do that for parties and stuff, you'd probably make a lot of money." She sighed," But here you are knowing all of this about me and I don't even know your name."

Was she flirting? Sherlock wasn't really all too experienced in flirting. He didn't know, he wasn't sure how he'd feel if she was, " Sherlock Holmes." Abby tried to hold back a laugh, but it broke free, "What?"

"That's-uh-" She pulled herself together, leaving the smirk from before still evident on her face, "That's quite a name you've got Sherlock. I like it."

Abby let herself in and walked around Sherlock, taking the apartment in. She noted the strange decor, the skull on top of the fire place, the strange animal skull with head phones, and, well, crime scene photos. Pretty modern, she thought, and took a step closer to the wall above the couch.

"And quite the fetish, not sure if I like it." Abby joked.

Sherlock felt the need to explain, "I'm a consulting detective."

"Like a Private I?" She squinted to read the report under a picture of an evidence bag, "Don't they normally do cheating spouses, not dead bodies, though cheating can lead to that."

Sherlock felt a smile tug at his cheeks, she had an interesting sense of humor, "Is that why you're here?"

Abby poked his chest, "Should't you 'read' that off of me?"

Sherlock dropped his smile, because he wasn't sure if her could find that in her clothes or her hair or the way she phrased her sentences like he should be able to. And it bother him. It made his feel exposed, to not have another person exposed to him. "I don't normally deal with those cases, though John does make me when we're low on money, but the police consult me when they're in too deep or when they have no where left to turn."

"That happen often?"

"Quite."

She glanced up at Sherlock, finding him interesting. He was really different, to the point, smart, full of himself almost. She wanted to make him read her and find her daughter, or at least give her some hints. But it was so early to be asking of favors like that, especially when she can't hire him with the no money she has.

"If you have an opening, you should bring me along."

"No- you'd just slow me down. I already have john to do that."

"John?"

"Flatmate."

Abby let out an 'ah' in understanding, "Well, if John's ever sick, hit me up." She glanced down at her watch, "I should get back and finish unpacking, though. Nice meeting you, Sherlock. Have a goodnight."

Sherlock watched her leave and pause at the door when he said, "Goodnight, Abigail."

It took her a moment to respond, as if she didn't know what to say, "It's Abby." All happiness had left her voice and Sherlock felt the tension radiating off of her form.

"Abigail suits you better."

A few more moments passed before Abby could pull herself away from the door frame, "Well then, goodnight Sherly." She called over her shoulder.

"Sherlock."

"Sherly fits you better!"

* * *

Well, that's only an introduction, I promise there will be more in the next chapter, more background, more story in general. This is going to take place in between blind banker and the great game and weave into the show. Please rate or review if you would be so kind! Thanks again, promise chapter 1 soon!


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1- _Knock Before Showing Me a Dead Body Next Time_

A few days had passed since Abby's meeting with her strange neighbor, Sherlock Holmes. She couldn't deny the fact that he still made her a little nervous: A strange man in a new country can tell her a brief summary of her life with just one look, and to top it off he was living just above her. It was just a little off setting.

His friend John, however, Abby could get along with. He had invited her over for coffee the next morning while Sherlock was out doing god knows what (hopefully not breaking any laws, as John has put it), and she was a little upset she couldn't see more of the 'consulting detective'. He may have been scary, but it only made him the more intriguing. John, on the other hand, seemed perfectly normal. He didn't read her or tell her life story or her fortune or anything. Just coffee and small talk, and it was quite enjoyable. He gave her the impression that with Sherlock around, he didn't get to do this sort of thing much. John talked about all of the crimes they worked on, day in and day out, murder after murder, John Watson had the most interesting job that he didn't necessarily get paid for. They talked for hours, and he mentioned his blog more than once. Abby noted that she would have to look it up to get a little more insight on the life and ways of the two armature detectives. But eventually, Abby had to leave John; she had an interview that day for a job that she would need if she ever wanted to be able to afford to stay in London. And after finding out more about the detective, she was planning on staying for at least a little while.

Abby was applying to a small day care close Baker Street, as it had been her job years ago when she lived in Florida. She promptly received a position there after a few routine background checks and was given her schedule. She knew it was going to be difficult, working with children again. When she had quit her job 3 years ago, it was because of the stress of the disappearance of her daughter. She hadn't been going to work regularly for months, and though the owners of the day care were understanding and would hold her job until she felt she could return, Abby knew they were just losing money waiting for her. She just wasn't coping. Abby felt the emptiness of her own home closing in on her; it was once filled with rebellious after-bed-time laughter, pancake cooking contests in the mornings, and the ever present noise of children's television. She saw children and families ever day who could still experience the mundane droll of everyday family life and Abby couldn't stand it.

But time had passed since those days, and she felt like she could handle it once more. Abby wasn't healed, but she was surviving. After all, she always held out hope that this would all be just a temporary fix.

And today was her last day until that job started, so she was determined to make it as relaxing and enjoyable as possible.

Sitting at the small table she had purchased for her apartment, Abby flattened out the paper in front of her and reached over to the counter for her pencils. Sketching had been, for a long time, the most calming activity she had ever know. And with little inspiration, she decided to sketch what was right in front of her: the dingy fireplace, peeling wall paper, water damage. The nearly deplorable conditions of the apartment were coming out as delicate with every stroke she lay on the paper.

"Do you mind the violin?"

Abby flinched and spun around to face the intruder, drawing a thick black line from end to end on the paper in the process. She huffed at Sherlock Holmes and stood up to face him, or his neck, seeing as he was so much taller.

"Sherlock, what the hell? How did you get in here?"

"You left the door unlocked," he rolled his eyes, "you should be more careful about that."

The detective really only got stranger, and Abby wondered if he understood any social norms at all. Seeing as she wasn't sure how to respond and took too long to come up with something, Sherlock sighed, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"The violin."

Abby stuttered, grasping for words to give him, "I mean- I don't have a personal vendetta against the _violin_. What are you talking about?"

Sherlock began walking calmly around the flat, taking it all in. Abby knew he was probably just deducing more about her, absorbing information off of her unpacked boxes and low quality furniture. Then he looked her up and down, taking information off of her. Abby didn't know how John did it, living with him. It almost made her feel naked.

"I play the violin; it helps me think," Sherlock began to explain, "I suspect that you would be able to hear me, should I play, through the ceiling, as I can hear you when you sing in the shower."

Abby's cheeks began to grow warm, "Sorry,"

"You should be." Sherlock squinted for a moment, "How quickly can you get ready to leave?" He checked his watch, "John is sick."

It took her by surprise for a moment, but Abby realized what Sherlock was doing.

He was inviting her to a crime scene, and she was almost desperate to go.

"Ten minuets."

"You have five." And with that, Sherlock turned and left the apartment without further explanation.

"You know normal people knock!" She yelled after him.

"I'm not people!"

* * *

Perhaps she spent too long looking for something to wear. But what do you wear to a crime scene? Abby knew Sherlock was wearing something nice, he was already dressed up when he entered her apartment earlier, but she still didn't want to over do it.

As she slipped on a pair of nice jeans and finally grabbed the dark green jacket off of the living room couch Sherlock yelled from the door, "Would you hurry up!"

Grabbing a necklace off of the counter, Abby shot back, "Maybe I'll be faster next time if you give me notice as to when you're dragging me off to a crime scene."

He held the door open after her when she got upstairs, "next time?" Sherlock questioned.

"You know what I mean."

He flagged down a cab and climbed in before her, leaning in towards her once she was in too, "No I don't," His voice was low and quite and in that moment it took Abby off guard. She was stunned just long enough for Sherlock to look down at her chest, "I didn't take you for the sentimental type."

Abby pulled back as quickly as she could, because he was right. She was sentimental. The necklace she had put on had the single letter 'E' on it. It stood for Elle, Her daughter. The necklace had been a gift from Abby's mother, and it originally had 3 charms on it: an E, a J, and an A. For her family, Elle, Josh, and Abigail. She had taken off the J after the divorce for obvious reasons, and even the A because she felt like she had changed after her daughter's disappearance, its why she doesn't go by Abigail anymore. She left the E because her daughter had never left her heart, she would always hope that she would turn up one day.

"How," Abby paused for a moment, wondering if she really wanted to continue, "How do you do it? How do you read people?"

Sherlock looked up from his phone, surprised by the question, "Well, the necklace you're wearing; its cheep and you wear it often, you can tell by the discoloration of the metal from being on your skin for so long. You could replace it or simply not wear it, but you choose not to. Not to mention the charm is an 'E', which isn't in your initials, so it must be your previous last name or the name of a loved one, you wouldn't just wear an E for nothing. So, sentimental. Not a difficult deduction, I just observe."

She fiddled with the charm for a moment, "and yesterday? How'd you know all of that stuff about me? You told me exactly where I was from, and Ms. Hudson told me later that she hadn't even mentioned me to you."

Sherlock sighed, annoyed that he had to bother explaining this to her, "Well, the American part was simple, your accent and your coffee- people around here tend to drink tea. You were wearing a tank top under your jacket and had a tan that didn't appear to be fake, so the south considering the winter the north must have just had. But I could also rule out states with a prominent 'southern accent', so I was down to about three states. I know that Ms. Hudson gave up on renting out 221c a while ago due to the water damage and no longer lists it anywhere. The only way you would know about it is if she offered it to you directly; you must have lived in Florida with her. I know that she lived in the States with her husband when she was younger, you must have been around ten or so, so possibly she was friends with your parents. So American, Florida, knows Ms. Hudson. That was hardly difficult. And your relationship status; there's a feint tan of your wedding ring on your finger, so the separation was not too recent as the area began to tan over, but I suspect the divorce was not too long ago because you would probably leave as soon as you couldn't afford to live there anymore. And I know that you can't afford it because why else would you be renting a water damaged flat from and old family friend in the middle of London."

Abby stared at Sherlock for a moment, stunned beyond belief. He really did just observe. The facts were all there, he just connected the dots. Sherlock saw everything that everyone else saw, he just used it.

"Sherlock that's incredible."

His head snapped to the side, "You're the second person to react like that."

"Really? Who was the first?"

"John. I told him about how he came back from war and how his brother was a drunk. Though it turned out to be his sister." Sherlock was surprised when he saw a smile slide on to Abby's face, "What?"

"You're just like this all of the time, and you use it to solve crimes?"

"Its better than doing it for parties," he joked, making Abby crack a laugh and looked out the window to the London streets passing by.

There was a comfortable pause of silence between the two as the cab began to slow, "I'm surprised you didn't find out that I have a daughter."

Sherlock's head shot up from his phone. He didn't deduce that, he didn't even come close to deducing that. Why didn't he see that? "What? You have a daughter?"

The cab slowed to a stop, "Oh, are we here?" Abby avoided his question and stepped out of the cab, leaving Sherlock to pay.

The Flat in front of her seemed perfectly ordinary, almost like 221, with the exception of the overbearing presence of police officers and yellow tape. Once Sherlock stepped out, a man with graying hair and a think accent approached him, "Sherlock just in time, this way."

He allowed the two to follow his across the street into the flat. Sherlock gripped Abby's elbow to guide her through the chaos and make it clear that she was in fact with him.

Abby didn't really believe him until now, she didn't think the police really went to him for help. But when he was escorted directly onto the scene and everyone there shot knowing looks in his direction, Abby knew Sherlock was a big deal. She had stumbled right into the most important man in London.

"So, no John today is this your, well," The man didn't finish his sentence as he continued to escort them through the halls of the home, pictures of family get-aways and cherished moments lined the walls.

"neighbor, Abby Johnston, this is DI Lestrade." Sherlock finished for him, "John is busy."

"I thought you said he was sick?"

Sherlock ignored her and stepped into a bedroom when Lestrade stopped, holding out a hand to stop Abby, "You ever been to a crime scene before?"

Abby reached up a fiddled with her necklace for a second, all she really wanted to do was to be next to Sherlock: he was the only familiar face here, "No, actually, Sherlock just sort of dragged me along. I don't really even know him, to be honest."

Lestrade nodded knowingly, "You know he did the same thing to John Watson. I just wanted to stop you to make sure you were prepared for what you were going to see, and to make sure you don't touch anything, it could be an issue if you do."

Once Abby agreed to leave everything be, the two turned to go into the bed room.

She understood why the detective would want to warn her.

Sprawled out on the bed was a woman with gaping stab wounds in her abdomen and blood covering her and the sheets. And she looked just like Abby.

They both had the same light brown hair, the same blue eyes, about the same height and the same build. They could have been sisters.

Abby felt her stomach tighten and she leaned on the door for support.

"She the same as the first on," Sherlock started to speak out loud, and Abby wondered if he was speaking to anyone in particular, "Description is the same, both recently divorced, moved to the city with in the past year." He glanced up at the wall above the bed, "Messages left at both scenes."

A large, red 'L' had been painted on the wall with the woman's blood directly above her head.

"Abby," Sherlock's voice brought her away from the scene, she had been staring so hard she didn't notice he had moved towards her, "What does the letter 'L' mean to you?"

Her breath caught in her throat, but she mustered out a small, "What?"

It only seemed to make Sherlock angry, he wanted answers, and quickly, "Come on, Abigail. Even John could see the connection. You're tied to this case; they look like you, they're both divorced, they both recently moved here. The last crime scene had a message too. It was "AJ", your initials. Now some people would amount that to coincidence, but the universe is rarely so lazy. So, what does the letter L mean to you?"

Abby's breath was quickening and she couldn't think straight as the room around her felt like it was spinning, she left Florida to get away from the insanity, not to jump back into it, "Nothing-"

"It has to mean something! Think!" Sherlock shouted, catching the attention of the entire room.

Lestrade noticed how she was shaking and Sherlock didn't appear to want to back down, so he decided to step in, "Sherlock, stop it. Give her some space, would you?"

Sherlock stepped back, looking Abby up and down. He had just wanted her to speak faster, "Abigail,"

"No. Fuck you, Sherlock. I should just leave."

Sherlock watched as she left the crime scene, knowing that it was probably best to not go after her. After all, he still needed to solve the case.

"You can be a real dick sometimes, Sherlock." Lestrade said, " You really need to stop shouting at people to get them to work faster, it shuts some people down."

Sherlock ignored him and stepped towards the dead body, ready to forget what happened and get back to work. Two women were dead and he didn't want there to be a third.

* * *

He arrived back to Baker Street late that night. After spending most of the day interviewing family members and collecting evidence back at Scotland Yard and still getting no where, he was already sick of working alone. He didn't go back to get John because he was, in fact, busy that day and Sherlock doubted he would be back at 221b. Sherlock knew enough about people to know Abby wouldn't be too excited to rejoin him on the case.

He contemplated checking on his new neighbor, she had run out of there pretty distraught, and what harm could be done just making sure she made it back safe.

Sherlock checked the door before knocking and noted that it wasn't locked like before. He called out her name quietly, but no one responded. The sketch from this morning was still sitting on the kitchen table, not having been moved since he interrupted her this morning. Sherlock saw the coffee she had made this morning still sitting out, now cold.

He quickly checked the bed room and anywhere else in the small flat where she might be, but came up empty. Every indication made it seem like she hadn't even been back after leaving the murder scene.

Sherlock sprinted up the stairs busting into 221b and said, "John- Abby hasn't been-"

But john ran in from the kitchen with a finger pressed to his lips, trying to get Sherlock to shut up for once. He pointed over to the couch where, under a few blankets, Abby was sleeping. She seemed to be not bothered by Sherlock's outburst.

"She said she was worried to be in her flat alone and asked to stay up here. Something about the case you took her on."

John looked up expectantly at his flatmate, waiting for an answer while Sherlock stared at the woman on the couch, "The victims bore a resemblance to her in appearance and circumstance. There was a message left at the first scene, which were her initials, and one at the second scene, which was the letter L. I may or may not have shouted at her to get her to work faster."

John sighed and ran his hand down his face, "Jesus, Sherlock. You have to stop doing that."

But Sherlock didn't respond to John, he was to busy trying to read Abby, and not getting anywhere with it, "Why didn't I know she has a daughter?"

John stared up at him, "What?"

"I didn't read it off of her. I didn't know."

He didn't hear what ever John had said next, but when he looked back up John was gone. Probably off to bed.

The girl had occupied Sherlock's thoughts for the past few days, worrying him and confusing him. She was nothing but an abrasive, annoying, American. But that's all he knew about her. He couldn't see the daughter, or anything else about her.

He glanced one more time at Abigail, knowing that she would be taking up a room or two in his mind for the time being, and went off to his room.

* * *

Well, that was chapter 1- hope you enjoyed it. In case you didn't know, this story will have a case (surrounding Abby) before weaving into the great game and will continue with the series after that. Thanks for reading and don't be afraid to review and follow. Thanks again!


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